That's Not Cricket…
by BelleLitteraire
Summary: A story of the lost moments of 1x04 (Basic Instinct) from Evan's POV


_A/N: In England, the game of cricket is considered the national sport. The saying "that's not cricket" in the British vernacular means "that's so unfair." As a big baseball fan, I couldn't help but make Evan one as well. Thanks for all the wonderful praise and author follows—your interest in Evan motivates me! If you're a first-time reader, go to My Stories for more about him! _

* * *

On Thursday night, the crowd at the bar where the precinct's blue hung out was ear-splittingly raucous. The TV sets were on full volume for the last game of the Yankees-Tigers battle for the ALCS, and many of the fans in that drinking hole held their collective breath, hoping for a miracle and a game five. The boys in pinstripes were on the verge of elimination and the end of their 2012 post-season run. Seated at the bar, Evan flagged the bartender for another beer (he had to get used to ordering glasses or bottles, not pints) when Wollansky clapped him on the shoulder. "I got ya, Marks," he said, nodding to the bartender. "Whatever he's drinking and a couple of Millers for me and Boggs."

"Thanks, Wollansky," said Evan and turned his attention back to the TV. "You're going to be handing over more than just the cost of that beer very soon."

"Don't flippin' remind me," Wollansky parked himself onto the barstool right next to Evan. "Where's our damn offense!" he yelled at the TV.

Wollansky's partner Boggs stood between them, also transfixed on the game. It was the top of the ninth inning and the Yankees had two more outs to work with before the on-field celebration at Comerica Park commenced. "I don't know what's worse, Jeter breaking his ankle or Girardi benching A-Rod!"

"I would have done exactly that!" countered Evan, taking a swig of his newly poured beer. "Guy has a cold bat."

"That's a two hundred seventy-five million dollar ass sitting on that bench!" exclaimed Boggs.

The crowd erupted into a loud groan as the Tigers recorded another out. "It's not just Rodriguez, guys," Evan continued. "You've got a lifeless Cano and Granderson. From game one, the Yankees have squandered their scoring opportunities. Even with leadoff men like Ichiro on base and guys in scoring position, no one's going to record a run if the rest of the lineup isn't driving them in."

"God, Marks, why don't you point out the obvious," Wollansky grimaced, his eyes still on the screen. "And we _score_ runs, not record them."

"It's amazing," Evan continued, unfazed by Wollansky's sarcasm. "They had home field advantage, and yet the Yankees have been handcuffed by Tiger pitching…Sanchez, Scherzer, and Verlander. Add to that, you've got explosive offense from Cabrera, Peralta, and Jackson...I cannot see why you'd put money on the Yankees." At the final out, another moan permeated the bar, followed by some loud complaints of coming up short in another October. "You owe me twenty," grinned Evan and he held a palm out to Wollansky.

"And they had the best record in the AL…who woulda thunk," lamented Boggs.

Wollansky pulled out his wallet and fished for bills. "Son of a…I kinda feel like I was hustled. You're a New Yorker, now, Marks. A true New Yorker always roots for the Yankees. And that's why I put money on them."

Evan flashed a wicked grin. "What if I like the Mets better?"

Wollansky slammed a twenty dollar bill on the bar and pointed at Evan. "Don't get me started. It's almost criminal to root for anybody else besides the Yankees."

Evan smoothly inserted the bill into his money clip. "I happen to pay attention to statistical matchups, and I'm not driven by the blind faith of your particular fandom."

Boggs set his drained glass down on the bar. "Hey Marks, how are you at actually playing the game? Have you ever played?"

"Does being an 'all-rounder' in cricket count for anything?"

"What's that?"

He explained, "As a kid I was on the junior cricket league at school. Cricket's most similar to baseball—it's played with eleven on a team, and a bowler on a pitch serves up a ball to a batsman. Most players hone their skills either on offense or defense, but as an all-rounder, I excelled at both."

"So all-rounders are pretty hard to come by," said Wollansky.

Evan nodded. "It takes a lot of talent and practice to be good at both batting and fielding. I don't know if I had that much talent, but I made up for it with constant practice."

"What position did you play?"

"I was a wicket-keeper, the equivalent of a catcher."

As if they both shared a single brain, Wollansky and Boggs exchanged a look. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" grinned Boggs.

Wollansky laughingly answered, "I think we're thinking the same thing, partner!"

"What on earth are you two going on about?"

Excitedly, Boggs said, "We need a new catcher on our softball team. Our last one transferred to the Forty-Fifth. If you say you have both offensive and defensive skills, why don't you come for tryouts this Saturday at Welles Park?"

"I don't know…." Evan hesitated. "It's been years since I played any kind of sport. I'm bound to be rusty."

Wollansky insisted, "Come on, it'll be like getting back on a bike. And Joe would be psyched to have you. He wants to crush FDNY this year. He's waged his own personal vendetta."

Evan remembered the camaraderie and the friendships he made when he played team sports. He realized that ever since moving to America he had been trapped in neutral and missed having mates. Now here was a chance to do something about it. "Yeah, why not," he raised his glass and clinked a toast to Wollansky.

Boggs' dark brows popped. "Whooo, time to get on base, boys. A couple of lovelies have just come onto the premises." He tugged at his belt buckle and ran a hand over his moussed-back hair.

"Yeah, Marks, weren't you just bragging about how many notches there are on your belt from all the chicks that get turned on by a British accent? You're twenty dollars richer. Let's see you work that magic on the Estrogen Squad right there…." Wollansky craned his neck around Evan, clapped him on the back, and turned him around on his barstool.

"Smooth as the slush under my snow tires, Wollansky. Is it any wonder I don't miss your dickhead self," sniped Tess as she clicked past her former partner. She sarcastically blew him a kiss that he caught and then slapped on his heart. Evan saw Cat right behind her, and by the look on her face he knew that she'd heard every word Wollansky and Boggs said.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon in his apartment, Evan pulled on his new blue-on-blue jersey with the bright yellow NYPD lettering across the chest. When Joe had tossed it to him last week with a big smile and a "Welcome to the team," Evan felt proud. The transition into playing softball came easier than he'd thought, and he'd forgotten how much fun it was to play, even if the game wasn't cricket. He also liked hanging out with the guys on the team, even Wollansky and Boggs, though their attitudes towards the ladies still made him cringe.

When he arrived for a mandatory practice game at Welles Park, he greeted his teammates and then started his warm-up stretches. A crisp scent of autumn hung in the air but for an October in New York City, the weather was beautiful and balmy enough to play in short sleeves. As he strapped on his chest protector, he looked up in surprise to see Cat, also wearing an NYPD jersey and dragging a bat behind her.

"Hi." Her greeting was devoid of any kind of feeling.

"Hi. I didn't know you participated in the trials."

"I didn't try out. I'm here because of affirmative action."

"What?" he laughed.

Cat's overall demeanor reminded him of a petulant teenager who was being forced to spend an evening with her parents instead of partying with her friends. "Joe said that he had to have at least two females on the team so that's why Tess and I are here." She dropped the bat and pulled a hairband from her wrist, gathering her hair into a ponytail. Then she grabbed a batting helmet from the equipment bag and plopped it on her head. "And don't you make fun of me," she said, reacting to Evan's barely concealed grin. She discarded one oversized helmet after another. "I swear, why do I feel like I'm drowning in these helmets?"

**x – x**

Evan never promised he wouldn't make fun of her. From behind the plate he could see exasperation and embarrassment on Cat's face as she swung at every pitch Joe threw. He watched her bite her bottom lip in concentration and her eyes narrow as she focused on the incoming softball, only to swing at the empty air and turn to find the ball land neatly in his catcher's glove. She looked so cute wearing a helmet that practically swallowed her entire head, and he couldn't help enthusiastically calling each of her strikes, watching as her frustration mounted. When Joe banished her to right field she shot him a death glare, to which he responded with a know-it-all grin.

**x – x**

"Did you keep your home run ball?" Cat placed her batting helmet in the equipment bag and waved goodbye to Tess, who was running off the field towards her car.

Evan undid the straps of his shin protectors. "No, why should I have?"

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do? Save your home run balls?"

Evan laughed. "Not for practice games, love." Her mouth twisted. "Speaking of practice, do you want me to help you with your hitting?"

"Tess is supposed to help me."

"I can help, too. Your stance doesn't look right. At least from what I'm seeing of you in the batter's box."

"Well, I guess the more advice I can get, the better…."

* * *

Tess popped by his lab looking for Cat. She was about to leave, having said that she was going to hold fast to her salacious Chandler-Marks theory, when she stopped dead in her tracks at Evan's question: "Tess, are you on a scouting mission?"

"Hm?"

"You know, when teams send out representatives to look at players on rival teams and they then put together a report on a certain player's tendencies."

"I know what scouting means!" she scowled.

"Yeah, so are you on a fact-finding mission of some kind, maybe trying to gauge level of interest on behalf of the other team?'

She clicked her tongue. "No." When Evan crossed his arms, she retorted, "Well deny and protest all you want. I am not blind to how you look at her, and how she looked at you that Thursday at the bar."

Evan's eyebrows quirked up. "Really?"

Tess scoffed. "I can see why you have an inflated ego. You might really be so full of yourself you can't see what's in front of you," she tossed back as she left the lab.

* * *

"Widen your stance a little more. If you sit on your legs you won't lunge at pitches or swing at anything that moves slow or dips."

"Like this?" Cat positioned her feet closer to the white borders of the box and bent her knees lower.

"Okay, good. Now keep your weight back, don't lean forward."

"Okay."

"Now, for your grip, just relax your hold, and don't choke up on the bat." Evan stepped in to adjust her hands on the bat handle and move them away from the barrel.

Cat looked up at him. "I don't get this. Can you just show me?"

"Um, all right." He held his hand out for the bat.

Cat held on to the bat and tilted her head. "No, come here and show me."

Evan stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around hers. "Um, so watch your stance…good. And then lean a little towards me, that's fine. Your hands go here." He saw Cat bite her lower lip—she had lips that reminded him of a piece of ripe fruit and all its promise of sweetness. He was so lost in fighting the urge to taste those lips that he didn't hear Cat until she repeated herself.

"Evan? Evan, focus."

Caught off guard, he stepped away from her abruptly and cleared his throat. "Right. Yes. Well now _you_ focus. Stance is good. I'm going to start tossing some pitches and we'll get the follow-through on your swing sorted."

**x – x**

An hour later, Evan and Cat were seated on the wooden bench—he sipping on his water bottle and she pulling on a sweatshirt and running her fingers through hair she'd just freed from her ponytail.

"This was productive. You learn fast," Evan said.

"You're a good teacher. You're far more tolerant of my lack of athleticism than Tess. She tends to come from the school of impatience."

"Well, glad I could help. We don't want to disappoint Joe, do we?" he smiled.

Cat turned to face him and she smiled back. "I'd lose an extra hour of sleep if you're the one teaching me hitting mechanics." She paused. "You're a prince among men, Evan. You know that?"

"Yeah, I do. But it's nice to hear once in a while."

Cat took a sip from her own water bottle and for a few heartbeats of quiet they didn't speak. Evan stole a glance at her profile: she was leaning against the chain link fence and staring upward at the pink streaks in the sky, a peaceful backdrop to the murmurs of a city waking to a new day. Was Tess right? Was he really so full of himself that he wasn't seeing what might be some romantic interest from Cat? A clear resonance set up shop in the middle of his chest, the kind that told him that what he was feeling was true. And if everyone who knew Cat…Joe, Tess, even Morrissey…were seeing what he hadn't, then he must be willfully blind to it. He swallowed, gathering his courage. "Tell me something," he began, and she turned her gaze from the sky to his face, "why aren't we dating?"

The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew he must have said something wrong, crossed that invisible line that kept him in the box of friend and not lover. He couldn't quite read her reaction on her face, but it couldn't be blamed on the lack of light. "Evan, you don't want me to answer that, do you?" she said in an almost-whisper.

The integrity of his heart muscle was reduced to hamburger in his rib cage, but he laughed it off and took another sip of water. "Well, probably not. I've a feeling your answer might just not be cricket," he answered lightly.

Cat stood up, her eyes still locked on his face. "Come on, I'll give you a ride to the precinct."

* * *

As Evan reported Whiskers' test results to Tess, he couldn't help but feel slightly relieved that he was reporting them to her than to her partner. Except he found that Tess was in a really bitchy mood, and she wasn't in a frame of mind to get tested. She groused that she was left twisting in the wind again, and as per usual, could not find Cat. Tess intimidated him. She had that Bronx "don't-mess-with-me" attitude that scared Evan a little. He tried to lighten her disposition by saying, "Maybe he just wanted to get away from the girlfriend," referring to Tommy's alleged disappearance and flight to Florida, but Tess' glower chilled the air around them and he knew he had to wipe the roguish smile off his face.

**x – x**

"I swear, I always thought when she disappeared that she was with you," Tess said as she looked at her cell phone.

_Yeah, well, I'm probably the last person she'd want to be alone with, _thought Evan.

* * *

He heard that sweet sound of the ball hitting that exact spot of the barrel to produce that satisfying thwack. And when his ears perked up to that sound he saw the ball sailing through the air, far, far into the outfield. For a moment Cat looked dumbstruck and she didn't move in the batter's box till Joe yelled after her to run. "Of course, she hits a home run," Evan said to himself. He joined the other guys for the celebration at home plate, and heard Boggs say, "Cat Chandler…who woulda thunk?" He even heard Wollansky exclaim, "Man, if Chandler was on the Yankees there would've been a game five!"

As Evan watched Tess and Cat doing a happy dance, his heart swelled with pride for her—she was the heroine of this game. No matter what happened next between them, he decided that if all she could give him was her friendship, that should be enough. And that he was no longer going to think "that's not cricket."


End file.
